


Damian's Big Day Out

by Amuly



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bat Family, Coming Out, Condoms, Doggy Style, Dry Humping, Family, Family Fluff, Future Fic, Lap Sex, M/M, Minor Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Minor Roy Harper/Jason Todd, Rimming, Weddings, tim drake bashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-20 13:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: It's the day of Dick and Barbara's wedding, and Damian Wayne has a list of things to do. Pick up the groomsmen tuxes, attend lunch with the family, make sure everything goes smoothly at the service... oh, and, last and probably least: come out to his father. It's either that, or come up with a better excuse than "security detail?" for Jon Kent attending the ceremony as his plus-one.Or, where Bruce Wayne, world's third-greatest detective, is literally the last to know his son is dating a superkid.(Future!fic, Jon is 21, Damian 23/24)





	Damian's Big Day Out

“You have a plus one,” Jon pointed out. He flopped side to side in the car, not even bothering to brace himself as Damian took turns at breakneck speeds.

“As I understand these things-”

“You definitely don’t,” Jon laughed.

“-‘plus ones’ are meant to be used on significant others.”

“No one said they _have_ to be,” Jon pointed out. “It doesn’t _say_ ‘significant other’ on the invite. It just says ‘plus one.’” Jon’s shoulder slammed into the side of the car as Damian popped the emergency break and drifted across four lanes of traffic onto the next city block. Jon didn’t even flinch. Damian _did_ glance over to make sure his car door was still intact. Looked okay.

“Look,” Jon sighed. “Why’d you even _check_ the _box_ if you weren’t going to bring me.”

“I was planning on bringing you.”

“You bought me this tux-”

“Every adult needs a proper suit, it was shameful that you didn’t have one.”

“ _You_ don’t have one.”

“Of course I have one.”

Jon blinked. “Wait, but I thought…” he glanced in the back seat. “You’re wearing that thing.”

“It’s called a ‘thawb.’”

“But you have tuxes?”

“For Bruce Wayne-related events. Western philanthropists. This is different.” Damian skidded through a yellow light as it turned red. “This is family.”

Jon paused, incessant chattering for once falling silent. It gave Damian time to concentrate on the road, driving, and nothing else.

Nothing else like how Richard’s wedding was _today_ , and Damian still hadn’t spoken to Bruce like he’d planned. How he’d been working up the… he wouldn’t say “courage”, it most certainly wasn’t that he lacked courage. He faced down world-ending cataclysms on the regular. He’d stared down _death_ from his own _mother_ as a child. If there was something preventing him from speaking to Bruce, it certainly wasn’t courage, or his lack thereof.

Still, the fact of the matter was, he now had approximately eight hours left to tell Bruce before Richard’s wedding began and it would all be a moot point. … _If_ he brought Jon with him. If he left Jon at home, in the apartment they shared (because they were both Titans, because it was only reasonable given how much they worked together, because they’d moved to the same city to attend the same college and it just made sense…), then the clock reset and he could tell Bruce in his own time.

Except he’d checked the ‘plus one’ box on the invitation, because he had opened it with Jon hanging over his shoulders, excitedly chattering away about Richard and Barbara’s wedding. Except he’d dragged Jon out to a proper menswear store, and a proper tailor, and bought him a proper tuxedo (in which he looked… beautiful). Except he’d told Richard, when Richard asked, and Richard had wrapped him up in a hug (which Damian had not returned) and told him he was there for Damian, no matter what, and that Damian could tell Bruce or not tell Bruce and Richard would keep his big mouth shut. And that next morning he’d laid next to Jon before Jon woke up and stared at his long eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheeks and thought, oh. He had to tell Bruce, eventually, because this was forever. As forever as things got, in their business.

“You missed the turn.”

Damian swore every swear he knew (thank you, Jason) and made a U-turn in the middle of an intersection before peeling back the other direction.

“You know it’s just the groomsmen’s suits,” Jon pointed out. “Not a freeze-bomb Mr. Freeze attached under Gotham.”

“And _you_ know that Richard entrusted me with these and I plan on giving it all the focus I would any other life-threatening mission,” Damian shot back.

That earned him a laugh and a kiss to his cheek, which Damian supposed he deserved.

They picked the suits up without incident and made their way to Richard’s hotel room across town. Bruce had, of course, offered to host them all at Wayne Manor but Barbara and Richard agreed it would be more fun to separate things, a bit, from their bat-lives.

“Damian, thank God! Jon, hey, how’s it hanging. Damian, get your ass in here.”

Damian raised one eyebrow at Jon, who was snickering quietly beneath the mountain of groomsmen suits he carried. Richard flipped over the back of his hotel couch, naked except for a pair of black boxer-briefs. He gestured wildly to Damian to follow him, which he did, after Jon grabbed him and gave him a quick kiss.

“Hey looks freaked,” Jon observed.

Damian shrugged. “And?”

“Maybe try and, er…” Jon smiled lopsidedly. “Don’t be yourself.”

“Thanks.”

“Be someone with a little more empathy?”

“Yeah, I get it.” Damian huffed and followed after his ridiculous eldest brother. He found him jumping on the bed in the hotel bedroom. Damian shut the door behind him and crossed his arms.

“Richard?”

“I’m freaking out.”

“That much is clear.”

Richard did a flip off the bed, shaking his hands out. “I mean… it’s just. It’s so _big_. Marriage. I know it’s a cliché but you don’t really think about it until you’re _in_ it and suddenly you _get_ the clichés because they’re happening to _you_ , and. I mean, how many people do we know in happy marriages? Who made it last?”

“Lois and Clark,” Damian pointed out, without thinking.

Richard had been doing cartwheels off to one side of the bed. When Damian said that he stopped, head popping up, hair flopping in his eyes. He smiled softly and Damian wanted to run.

“Hey, look, I’m freaking out and I didn’t even ask. You were going to tell Dad before today, huh?”

“It’s… in process…”

Richard strode over to place his hand on Damian’s shoulder. He didn’t shrug it off, but that was only because concern for him seemed to be doing wonders for Richard’s nerves.

“You know I’ll keep my mouth shut as long as you want me to,” Richard reminded him.

“Of course. I… trust you.” It was hard to admit, but true. Of course Damian trusted Richard. He’d been a parent to him, he’d been Damian’s first Batman, when Bruce had died. Damian trusted Richard with his life. He trusted him with this silly secret (it didn’t feel silly. It felt world-changing).

“But you know he’s not going to give a shit,” Richard pointed out. “I mean, J-bird’s bi as a… uh…”

“Biplane?” Damian offered. Richard laughed.

“What the fuck, kid, you are _not_ a hundred. Sure, bi as a biplane. And Dad doesn’t care. Last I heard Roy’s his plus-one tonight. Five bucks says he’ll be at lunch with us.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

Richard eyed him up. “They were out all night weren’t they?”

Damian smirked. Richard rolled his eyes. “Well, they’ll be there tonight at the wedding, together. Probably making out in a corner, too, knowing them.”

“It’s different for Jason, anyway,” Damian pointed out. “He’s not exactly the favored son.”

“What, and you think you are?”

Damian clicked his tongue. “Of course not: you are. But I rank higher in my father’s esteem than _Jason Todd_.”

Richard laughed hard at that, slapping Damian’s arm. A smile might have slipped across Damian’s face as he rubbed the spot where Richard hit him.

“I’m serious, he’s not going to care.”

Damian hummed and said nothing, looking off to the side. Richard sighed.

“Well, I guess I’m less freaked out now?”

“Good. My master plan worked. All that insecurity was in fact a ruse. Do not think otherwise.”

“Sure thing, you little demon.” Richard grabbed at Damian’s head, trying to pull him in for a noogie. Damian easily evaded him.

“I’ll see you at lunch. I’m just going to drop Jon back at the apartment. Make sure he knows how to put on his tux properly.” Damian rolled his eyes for effect, but he didn’t really mean it.

Richard laughed slyly. “Oh yeah, that excuse. Just ‘trying on clothes’, huh?” Then he stopped, frowned. “Isn’t he coming to lunch with the rest of us?”

Damian stopped at the door, wincing. He hadn’t thought Richard would catch him out, beneath the mountain of his own anxieties.

“I thought the lunch was limited to the wedding party?”

“And their partners.” Richard ducked his head to look at Damian. At least they were roughly the same height, unlike Jason or Jon with their condescending tallness. “You don’t have to tell Dad to bring him. You can just bring him. It’s my wedding—well, Bab’s, but you know, theoretically it’s mine—and if I say he’s welcome, Dad’s not going to say anything. Not like he would. Jon’s been around so long. He’s family.”

Damian turned away from Richard to fiddle with the door handle, like it was some complex mechanism that required his full attention. He breathed stiffly and hoped Jon wasn’t listening in from the next room.

“Don’t overthink it,” Damian told Richard after a moment. “You love Barbara, she inexplicably loves you back. Tomorrow is for the morning.”

Of course Richard wrapped him up in a big hug from behind for that. Damian had been expecting it, though, and graciously patted Richard’s forearms where they were wrapped over his chest.

Then, because it was all a bit too serious, Richard had to go and ruin it. “You’re the best son a mother could ever want,” Richard mock-sobbed against Damian’s neck, squeezing him tighter.

“I could _destroy_ you,” Damian hissed. He struggled, but without any heat. When Richard finally let him go Damian turned and nodded at him.

“I don’t know what kind of husband you’ll be, but Barbara loves you. So I imagine keep loving her back and that will take care of things.”

“ _All you need is love…_ ” Richard sing-songed. He winked at Damian. “See you at lunch.”

He should have known Richard wouldn’t leave it. The bats were too conniving for that. When Damian opened the door to leave Richard raised his voice (not that he needed to) and shouted: “See you at lunch, Jon! Make sure D dresses you up nice!”

There was a blur of super-speed in Damian’s vision and then Jon was in the corner by the garment bags. Damian eyed him suspiciously but Jon just smiled, not even out of breath. Damian narrowed his eyes further. Jon dropped his head and scuffed his converses against each other.

“Cat in a tree.”

“Tt.” Damian strode for the door, not even dignifying that with a response. But he did smile. And Jon saw it.

They were back in the car when Jon asked. “I thought you said I wasn’t coming to the lunch?”

“Richard is insisting he was expecting you,” Damian grumbled.

Jon was quiet for a whole five seconds before he observed: “but you haven’t told your dad yet.”

“I’m aware of the conversations I’ve had with Father and the ones I have not.”

Jon sat perfectly upright as Damian spun them around a curb, car going up on two wheels. When they slammed back down to four only Jon’s hair fluttered. He tapped his chin.

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to say anything,” Jon pointed out. “I’m around all the time anyways.”

How terrible it was to have two equally intelligent men around him, Damian mused.

“Richard said something to that effect.”

“I won’t come if you don’t want me there.”

“Of course I-”

Damian pretended to focus on his driving. But then they were caught at a red light and he had no excuse. He dropped his hands to his lap. Jon reached over and grabbed one.

“I would of course want you there,” Damian tried again.

“Then I’ll be there.”

Damian was quiet as the light changed. Jon moved his hand from Damian’s hand to the back of his neck. Damian shivered.

“You’re gonna tell him soon. And then I can be there as your boyfriend. But until then, I’m there as your best friend. And I’m still that, right?”

“Inexplicably, yes.”

Jon tapped firmly at the back of Damian’s neck, just with one finger, but enough to send Damian’s neck jerking forward. He gasped and glared at Jon, who was grinning at him wickedly.

Then he laughed, because it was so rare that Jon was an asshole, and Damian loved it.

* * *

Their apartment was clearly occupied when they walked in. Not that there was a sound, or a person visible, or a single thing out of place. But Damian could feel these things in the air. And Jon, well. Jon was already slinging off his messenger bag, glasses, and baseball cap with a grin.

“Hey Dad!”

Superman—or rather, Clark Kent—was standing in their living room, balcony door open as he peered out at their view over the city. It wasn’t exactly the best neighborhood, or the penthouse view, but they’d compromised on something that the both of them could live with. It wasn’t some junker college kid apartment, nor was it… _Wayne_ levels.

“Hey kiddo. Just stopped by to drop off a present! Good morning, Damian. How’s the family?”

Damian wasn’t exactly at ease with Superman (Clark. Mr. Kent). The man was too damn powerful, and Damian shared his father’s paranoia in dealing with him. Not to mention he’d gone off the rails enough times over the years to entirely justify their paranoia.

He refused to examine why he never felt the same paranoia about Jon. Stupidity, was the most likely answer, unfortunately.

“Mr. Kent. Everyone is well. As far as I know.”

Clark grinned sideways at him in that way he had. He never seemed to understand his son’s affection for Damian, but he accepted him with open arms, nonetheless.

(If you thought it was hard to hide a romance from your father when he was the world’s second-or-third greatest detective, it was utterly impossible to hide it from your father when he was a nigh-omniscient super being. Damian had tried, for about three weeks. He’d coated their apartment in a thin layer of lead paint, including the floors. He’d gotten Raven to do all sorts of complicated silencing wards on their apartment, on Titan headquarters, anywhere else he thought Jon might scoop him up into an impromptu embrace. And then Jon had come home one night, shuffling his feet, and begged him to let him tell his folks. Because they didn’t keep secrets from each other. _Honestly_.)

“Dick’s freaking out,” Jon offered, laughing. Clark smiled at him.

“Well good: he should be. It’s a big commitment. If he’s freaking out that just means he’s taking it seriously enough.”

“Damian helped talk him off the ledge.”

That Clark didn’t take so easily. He eyed up Damian, grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth. Damian frowned at him.

“Did you, now?”

“Not hardly,” Damian admitted, because he hadn’t. “I was just a distraction he was happy to take.”

“Why? Problems of your own?”

Damian pressed his lips together and looked away. Jon scuffed his feet and coughed delicately.

“I don’t mean to impose, of course…” Clark trailed off, looking between Damian and his son. He might not _mean_ to, but of course he _was_. Damian glanced around their apartment, looking for an out.

A blur and Jon was gone, out the balcony and into the sky. Damian stared after him with wide eyes. He was just going to leave Damian alone? With Clark?!

Clark tilted his head. “It’s a fire down southside. He’s got it.”

“There’s always a fire when he needs it…” Damian grumbled. But now that they were alone Clark’s grin took on a sarcastic edge as he sat down at their wet bar. He nodded at Damian.

“Something you want to get off your chest?”

“Not particularly,” Damian snapped. He nodded at the present Clark had left on their coffee table. “What’d you get them?”

“Dishes, off the registry.”

Damian stared at Clark. He shrugged.

“Well, I couldn’t wrap up kryptonite grappling hooks, now could I? It’s a civilian wedding. And they’d registered for it. Lois assures me they’re very nice dishes.”

Damian rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I know your dad-”

“I’m truly uninterested in hearing your take on this, Mr. Kent,” Damian said as politely as he possibly could. It was Jon’s dad, after all. And also Superman, but.

“Could you give me a minute?” Clark pleaded. “I promise Jon hasn’t broken any confidences, but his mom and me pick up on things. I gather you’re worried about how Bruce will take it.”

“Not hardly. Just…” Damian didn’t hesitate, Damian never hesitated, “looking for an opportune time. It’s a… topic of conversation that does not… naturally occur, often.”

“Sure, well, that’s true, I suppose…” Clark mused. “But you remember how Jon told us?”

Damian grimaced. Of course he had. He’d been there.

_Jon flung open the door, really letting the doorstop earn its place in his parents’ home. Damian trailed behind, hands in his pockets, trying to look cool in his perfectly tailored three-piece suit and willing the beads of sweat under his arms to please, please reabsorb back into his sweat glands, somehow. You think ninja training would have given him the ability to do that._

_And he was in the home of a Super. Clark probably already knew. Could probably smell it on him._

_(Could probably smell_ him _on_ Jon _, and wasn’t_ that _an upsetting thought.)_

_“Hey Mom, hey Dad! That smells good, hey, Damian’s here for dinner.”_

_“Set an extra place for him,” Clark called out from the kitchen. “It’ll be ready in five. Your mom’s in her office—go get her, huh?”_

_Jon was practically vibrating as he turned back to Damian. His eyes were shining brightly, grin infectious. Damian’s stomach felt like it was vibrating at roughly the same frequency, but for an entirely different reason._

_(How could a parent of such a summer child ever want him to be with a creature of the night?)_

_(How could the last of his kind be okay with his son in a gay relationship?)_

_Damian’s fingers itched to adjust his tie, but he just quirked an eyebrow at Jon. Cool. Playing it cool. Clark could hear his heartbeat. Just breathe._

_“I’ll go get her. You know where the dishes are?”_

_Damian scoffed. “Of course.”_

_“It was a rhetorical question,” Jon teased._

_Damian set his own place at the Kent-Lane dinner table and tried not to think about how this was somehow symbolic of his position as an unwelcome interloper in the Super family. Clark came out with a serving dish piled high with spaghetti and meatballs._

_“Hey there, Damian. Want to grab the garlic bread from kitchen?”_

_Damian dutifully complied, bringing out the long rectangular serving dish with garlic bread stacked neatly along. Clark smiled at him, and Damian’s stomach flipped. Normally he hated the Super’s relentless cheeriness, but now he’d give anything for a guarantee that Clark would still have a smile for him at the end of the night._

_Jon was at his side in a flash, too close, fingertips brushing Damian’s own, lips inches from his cheek. Damian stepped back, tsking delicately under his breath._

_Jon thought it would all work out perfectly. Jon always thought that._

_Jon was their collective “hope for the best.” Damian was their “plan for the worst.”_

_Lois joined them only ten minutes late—Jon must have emphasized to her the importance of sitting down at dinner with them. Jon had spent the interim kicking Damian’s foot under the table and eating a truly terrifying amount of pasta._

_As soon as Lois was there Jon set his fork down and took a deep breath. Damian compulsively scanned the apartment for exits, even though he already knew them all._

_“Mom, Dad: I have an announcement. A good one, don’t worry.”_

_Jon was grinning so hard and Damian was so…_ scared _, he was so_ scared _it wouldn’t go how Jon was so sure it would go. Scared that his partner, best friend,_ boy _friend would be hurt by the people he loved the most. Damian braced himself for a fight, to defend Jon, to whisk him away when his parents wouldn’t understand._

_Lois and Clark had both set down their forks and were waiting patiently on Jon, both of them with small smiles. Damian locked eyes with Lois._

_She knew._

_Damian sweated harder in his suit._

_“Damian’s my boyfriend! We started going out a couple weeks ago.”_

_Lois’ response was immediate. “Well we’re happy for you, Jon. Damian, you’re always welcome here.” She picked her fork back up and tapped it in his direction. “As long as you don’t go snooping through my office. A reporter’s sources are sacred.”_

_Clark was equally gregarious. “Well, I never figured I’d have to give the ‘shovel’ talk to anyone Jon dated, but I suppose if there_ was _someone out there I should be worried about, it’d be you!” He clasped Damian on the shoulder warmly to bely his mock-threats. “Of course, Jon couldn’t have picked a better partner. And hey! Aren’t you two glad Bruce and me made you get along all those years ago?”_

 _“_ Dad _,” Jon groaned. “That was a_ million _years ago.”_

_“Still: guess I’m a pretty good matchmaker, huh? Even if I didn’t know it!”_

_Damian felt like he was going to collapse under the wholesome energy in this household. It was like Bizarro world, but worse, because there was nothing to punch. He sank down in his chair and poked at his spaghetti._

_“Oh, uh… But you know, Mr. Wayne doesn’t know about us…”_

_Damian sank further down in his chair, cheeks hot._

“Yes, I was there,” Damian reminded Clark.

“It’s not going to go any differently with your dad,” Clark told him.

Damian didn’t reply, turning away from the overly large man perched on his barstool.

His and Jon’s barstool. They’d picked them out together after they’d moved in.

“Your dad loves you more than anything else in this world.”

Damian snorted. “More than justice?” he teased, voice pitched high in mockery.

Clark was dead serious: “Of course.”

Damian turned away, rubbed at his head. Tt.

“Your father and I have our differences. But there’s one thing we are absolutely, completely the same on, and that’s our love for you boys. He loves you like I love Jon. That’s irrationally, that’s above and beyond everything else, it’s without reason or sense or even beyond feeling, at times. It’s all-consuming. The only question he’s going to need the answer to is if Jon makes you happy.” Damian could feel the smile in Clark’s voice, though he couldn’t look back at him. “And judging by what Jon says when we see him, I know the answer to that.”

Damian looked for something to busy himself with, but there was nothing. He cursed his Wayne fortune which allowed him to pay for their bi-weekly cleaning service. Damn it, even their couch cushions were perfectly fluffed.

“Jon’s finishing up.”

Damian glanced back at Clark, who was waiting patiently on him. Damian flicked his thumbnail against his index finger, trying to steady his breathing.

“You weren’t disappointed?”

“When Jon told us? Of course not.”

Damian glanced back toward the balcony, where Jon would be returning any second. He took a half-step towards Clark.

“But you’re the last son of Krypton. He’s your people’s last hope.”

“There are others,” Clark pointed out. “Kandor. Argo. Kara. Kon, even.”

Damian dropped his eyes. “We’re gay. We’re never going to have kids.”

“Well, never say never,” Clark pointed out. “But that’s up to you, not us. Your father and I aren’t the ones who’d be doing the raising.”

“You know what I mean. Blood.”

Clark smiled lopsidedly. “I can see why you’d think it’d matter to me. But do you really think _your_ dad feels that way? That the only children are blood?”

Of course not. But… Talia did. Half of Damian’s genes might be telling him that it was nurture that mattered, that family was forged in battle, not blood. But the other half had raised him to believe that he was the perfect weapon he was because of who his parents were.

And yes, he knew the irony of stating that half his genes had taught him nurture over nature. That was how much of a knotted ball all the narratives were in his mind.

Damian glanced out the window again. Not yet. He took three quick steps towards Clark, almost reaching out to touch his elbow but stopping just short.

“You’ve known my father as long as anyone.”

“Except Alfred, yeah, pretty much.”

“I know he will react adequately.” The words spilled from Damian like he couldn’t help himself. “I know he will not disown me, or rage, or curse me from the heavens. I know he will say everything he thinks he must say.”

Clark smiled softly. “You want to know if he’ll mean it.”

Damian nodded. Just once. The smallest of things.

Clark hunched over, pressing one meaty hand to Damian’s shoulder and squeezing just tight enough.

“Of _course_ he will.” He didn’t glance behind Damian, but Damian could see his eyes refocus at some point behind him—tell-tale X-Ray vision look. He knew that look. “He might just be a little annoyed you decided to date _Jon_ , of all men. After all, what happens when Jon gets infected with red Kryptonite and you have to take him down? Will you be able to?”

Damian snorted. “Tt. I already have three times. Jon sure gets infected and turned evil a lot…”

“Okay, I know you know I’m here,” Jon grumbled from the balcony. “I don’t know _why_ I thought I could sneak up on you.

Damian turned and actually smiled at the sight of Jon: covered in soot and beaming with a job well done. The yawning darkness in his gut was quieted for just a second by his own personal sun.

That was kind of why they worked, he supposed.

“We’ll make sure we deliver your present, Mr. Kent,” Damian said.

Clark took that for the dismissal it was and climbed off the barstool. “Great. And tell your dad we’ve got security all wrapped up. The happy couple shouldn’t hear a peep on their special day.”

Jon gave his dad a big hug, and Damian stuck out his hand. Of course Clark wouldn’t accept this, wrapping Damian up in a hug.

“Your father loves you.” Clark was using his super-ventriloquism, to keep Jon from hearing. Damian appreciated that. “And he’s going to love to hear you’ve found someone who makes you happy. It’s not going to matter that it’s a man.”

“Have a good day, Mr. Kent,” Damian told him. But maybe his tone was a little less cold. And his face just a little flush with gratitude.

When Clark was well gone—Jon held up a hand until he was out of range—Jon turned to Damian and grinned.

“I saved _five_ dogs and _three_ cats,” he announced.

“Some humans as well, I assume,” Damian replied wryly. But he knew what Jon meant, even as Jon slunk towards him, eyes glimmering. He was covered in soot, his shoelaces were singed.

Damian loved him so much.

Jon kissed him, tasting like a campfire. Damian loved it, pulling Jon tight to his body, tasting the lives saved, the adrenaline still pumping through Jon’s veins, needing _out, out, out_.

“Quick,” Damian murmured into Jon’s mouth. “We have lunch in an hour.”

“ _Super speed_ ,” Jon whispered back, through giggles.

He was always laughing. Damian kissed him harder, fingers tangling in Jon’s hair. He loved how Jon was always laughing.

They ruined their sheets. Jon lay there afterwards, naked and laughing as he picked at their soot-covered sheets.

“I didn’t think I was this dirty.”

Damian was breathing hard (never would admit it), lying with his head hanging over the edge of the bed. Dating a Super was… something else. Even as a world-class ninja assassin, it was a lot to keep up with.

Damian’s whole body tingled in the afterglow, head fuzzy. Part of that might be from hanging upside-down. Not all of it, though.

“You’re filthy,” Damian mumbled, a week too late. But it still made Jon giggle, and he crawled over to paw at Damian’s oversensitive skin. Damian flinched, then arched into the touch all at once. They had to be out the door in fifteen. And he didn’t have super speed.

Jon was kissing his way up Damian’s chest.

“If we shower together…”

Damian had Jon on his back, carrying him to the shower, before Jon could even finish his sentence. Jon’s laughter puffed warm, campfire-sweet air against Damian’s cheek.

* * *

They were late, because of course they were. Luckily Damian’s family wasn’t the most punctual lot, between stopping to fight crime and general skewed priorities.

Really, it was Jon’s fault for not knowing what a “Sunday casual” look was.

“You don’t own a single pair of jeans without a hole in them, do you?” Damian asked in horror, dumping Jon’s entire dresser drawer onto the bed.

“Uh… no wait, there’s the tight ones- Oh, no, yeah, those have a hole too. Heh.” Jon stuck his pinkie through a hole in said pair of jeans.

Damian shook his head. “Okay. Then you’re wearing slacks. No, you can’t wear the same shirt, put that one away.”

Jon tilted his head. “Why not? It’s just a button down.”

“It’s a button-up, first of all, and now we need something less formal to pair with the more formal slacks.”

Jon sat on their (freshly stripped) bed and kicked his feet. “Did your mom teach you this?”

Damian hesitated just as he was reaching for a nice salmon shirt in the back of Jon’s closet. He glanced over his shoulder at Jon, who was already wincing. But he shook his head and turned back.

“Father. Actually.”

Cassandra was the first one they saw at the restaurant. She was going over something at the bar when they walked in and waved them over. She was wearing a ridiculously bright floral dress, cut low in the back and showing off all those dance muscles she’d earned. Damian gave her a kiss on the cheek in greeting and signed at her:

 _Patio_?

She nodded, smiling gratefully at Damian. Quickly she signed back:

 _Jason and Roy aren’t here yet, or Selina_.

_So at least we’re not last._

Cassandra glanced over at Jon, flashed him a smile.

 _Have you told Bruce yet_?

If Damian had been smiling, he wasn’t now. Cassandra read it on him, of course, and corrected herself quickly.

 _Sorry. It’s ok_.

 _I know it is_.

 _I love you_.

Damian huffed and rolled his eyes, refusing to dignify that with a response. Cassandra hugged him again, and Damian hugged her back. He understood Cassandra, and she him, on a level the other Bats didn’t always quite get. They were all living weapons, sure, and they’d all been forged into one at too young an age. But what he and Cassandra were, what they were raised to be, was far beyond what Dick or even Jason had had undergone.

Most the rest of the family was already outside. Barbara was already a little tipsy on mimosas, which Damian supposed was her right given this was her big party. That _did_ put to rest the persistent family gossip that they were finally getting married because Barbara was pregnant. Damian had never believed that, anyway: Barbara was too smart to allow something like that to happen unplanned.

Though, Damian supposed, things did happen. He was living proof of that.

Jon’s hand touched the small of his back as they maneuvered through the family to their seats. Damian supposed at least that was one less thing he had to worry about.

Bruce was at the head of the table, of course. Damian supposed he ought to pay his respects to their patriarch, even if he wanted to keep him and Jon as separated as possible until he had a moment alone with Bruce (he’d had a thousand moments alone with Bruce, over the last six months. What good would one more do?).

“Damian.”

“Father.”

Bruce hugged him, because it was a public affair and the paparazzi was surely watching from some nefarious perch. Rubbing at Damian’s head, however, that was all Bruce. Damian “tt’d” and squirmed away.

“Jon, nice to see you, as always.” Bruce smiled and shook Jon’s hand. Jon looked taken aback for a moment before Damian leaned in.

“He’s Bruce Wayne, right now.”

Bruce winked at Jon.

“Not entirely. We’re with family, after all. But it’s a public place, and it’s my oldest ward’s wedding day. It’s a happy occasion.”

Jon recovered quickly enough, for being a superhero who was used to seeing Bruce wrapped in darkness and a scowl. “Oh, my dad said to tell you they’ve got security covered.”

Bruce’s eyes flicked up just for a second before smiling back at Jon. “I’m sure they do. I’ll thank him next time we see each other.” Bruce leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you his man on the ground, today?”

That… was actually a great excuse. Damian opened his mouth to agree, but Jon beat him to it.

“No. I’m just here as Damian’s plus-one.”

Damian carefully schooled his expression to blankness. If Bruce was confused—or worse, very much _not_ confused—he didn’t show it. He just laughed and ruffled Jon’s hair like he’d tried to ruffle Damian’s. Jon, the goody two-shoes, actually seemed to enjoy it.

“Why change something that works, right? Well grab a seat, eat up—are you twenty-one, yet? I wouldn’t care,” Bruce leaned in and whispered, “not like it would affect you,” he raised his voice back to normal, “but we’re sure we have some vultures circling and I don’t need a scandal breaking about how I ply young boys with alcohol at my son’s wedding.”

Dick overheard this and laughed. “Yeah, there were enough rumors when you started adopting boys and didn’t stop!”

Bruce scowled. “Terrible, terrible stuff.”

“I turned twenty-one last summer,” Jon assured Bruce. “Though I don’t think I’ll have anything. It doesn’t taste very good.”

“You’re not doing it right,” Barbara called over to him. “Come here, sit, sit.” Damian eyed her up, wondering how drunk she was planning on getting before her wedding. “You have one of mine. I need to switch to water, anyway.” Well, there you had it. Damian supposed he never should have doubted Oracle’s foresight.

Damian give Barbara a kiss on her cheek, welcomed Richard’s hug with only a small protest. Barbara pushed a mimosa—two, actually—into Jon’s hands and winked at him. Damian wasn’t sure if she knew about them. Probably. She probably got it out of Richard the day Damian had told him.

They settled in next to Tim and Stephanie, who Damian wasn’t sure if they were a couple or not, currently. Kate was across the table from them with Renee. Damian tried not to stare too jealously at the easy way the two women laughed and touched each other.

Well, like Jason, Kate could be a bit of a black sheep as well. She was in with the family right now, but she’d been out plenty of times before. And she was Bruce’s cousin, not child. His easy acceptance of her sexuality wasn’t a reliable predictor of how Bruce would react to Damian’s.

“Hey Jon, hey Damian.” Tim smiled blithely at them both.

“Ha, your brother said hi to _me_ first,” Jon pointed out. He sipped at one of the mimosas Barbara had given him. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

“You can’t get drunk,” Damian pointed out absently.

“We don’t know that. Maybe I got Mom’s alcohol tolerance.”

Jon’s foot nudged his under the table. Damian schooled his expression into careful indifference before nudging back. Then, for good measure, he slid the tip of his loafer up the back of Jon’s calf, tugging the loose-fitting material of his slacks up. Jon gulped down the mimosa in one move, face turning red.

The brunch was interrupted by a series of increasingly sappy toasts. Bruce gave the first one, which was a mixture of silly and serious, spoken on a dual level of meaning for the benefit of the paparazzi surely listening in. Then Tim gave a speech, then Dinah.

Jon leaned over to Damian to whisper: “Are you going to make a toast?”

“Absolutely not.”

A commotion from the bar shortly after Dinah finished her toast. Damian watched Cassandra’s shadow argue with someone, then two someones, then come stomping out to the patio, rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in exasperation.

Jason and Roy strolled in behind her. Damian smirked and took a sip of Jon’s second mimosa. Now at least no one would be paying them any mind. Not with his attention-whore of a big brother strutting around the place with his maybe-boyfriend.

Jason wrapped Dick up in a big, brotherly hug, whispering something in his ear that Damian couldn’t catch but had Jon smiling. Something saccharine then, no doubt. The two men collapsed into a pair of chairs across from Dick and Barbara towards Bruce’s end of the table, both with sunglasses and hats drawn low over the faces.

“Long night?” Barbara teased.

Jason shot finger-guns at her. “You know it. With this gang out of commission there’s just so much… ‘partying’ to go around.”

Roy snorted and grabbed for a flute of orange juice. Then he paused and glanced at Barbara. She shook her head and gestured over for a waiter, who returned with a fresh glass of orange juice for Roy. He passed the flute off to Jason, who passed it down to Commissioner Gordon next to him.

“Here you go, commissioner. Go ahead, you’re doing the Lord’s work,” Jason told him.

Commissioner Gordon didn’t seem to know how to take this intellectually, but he did know how to take it physically, so he just shrugged and sipped at his newly-gifted mimosa. Jason leaned across the table at Richard, gesturing with a butter knife.

“We making toasts yet?”

Richard smirked over his coffee. “Yes.”

“Anybody cry yet?”

Barbara snorted. Jason took that as a “no.” And a challenge, apparently, because he tossed down the knife and pushed himself to his feet.

“Alright, it’s my turn then. Folks: I’d like to say a word about my brother, Dick Grayson.”

Jason tilted his glass toward Richard.

“Dick: you were the first of us. You were the best of us.”

Richard’s expression froze, eyes wide. Damian leaned forward.

“You came before us so that the rest of us could follow. Everything you did: as a boy, as a grieving orphan, as a teenager, as an adopted son, and then as a partner, as a man, as a cop and a mentor.” He tugged his sunglasses off. “As a big brother. My big brother. Everything, was to show us the way. The three, and more, who came after you. You showed us how to be Bruce Wayne’s son. How to make him proud. You showed us how to deal with loss and death and grief gracefully, like only your limber ass could.” Pause for laughter, but Richard had tears in his eyes, and Damian was too intent on watching Richard’s every micro-expression to realize he was supposed to laugh.

“Now you’re going first again, showing us how it’s done. And of course, probably going to do it better than any of us sorry also-rans could ever dream. I hope one day I can follow your example in this too. To my big brother: first and best of us.”

Richard actually scaled the table to hug Jason, pulling him close to his chest and crying hard against his shoulder. Damian sat back, rubbing viciously at his head.

“Yeah,” Jon observed: “You couldn’t have touched that.”

Just for that, Damian spent the rest of the brunch subvocalizing filthy fantasies so that Jon was left squirming and red for the next two hours.

* * *

The ceremony was perfect, and not a single supervillain interrupted it (Jon’s eyes had flicked up once or twice, which Damian took to mean Jon’s family were taking care of security, discreetly). Barbara and Richard had written their own vows—a trite practice, Damian felt, though perhaps he disdained it so much because he knew he’d never be able to expression his affections so directly. He could barely acknowledge his feelings for Jon to _himself_ ; the thought of forcing those feelings into words, and then saying those words aloud, was even worse than imagining the conversation with Bruce. It was all just so… _big_ , like Richard had observed. Perhaps Damian’s older brother had some wisdom, buried deep. Very deep.

Richard stumbled through his vows, choking up halfway through them. Barbara’s were clear and well-rehearsed, but left the more sentimental members of their audience dabbing at their eyes. This of course included Jon, who sniffed loudly and reached out, just with his pinkie finger, to brush against Damian’s hand. Damian sighed in exasperation loud enough for Jon to hear it. Then he shifted over, enough to press his shoulder against Jon’s and keep it there. Jon sobbed some more.

Damian would never have chosen to attach himself to such sentimentality. But there he was, stuck with it, helpless against his own affections.

Then it was over and the Wayne’s piled into their various limos, dragging along the Gordons and all the rest of the guests with them. Damian strode over to his own car, Jon following without having to be told. They’d been partners for a decade, after all, even before the dating and… physical intimacy.

Jon sighed happily as he dropped into the passenger seat ( _his_ seat) of Damian’s sportscar.

“That was beautiful. Do you think she’ll change her dress before the reception?”

“I don’t know, I only know what the groomsmen were wearing,” Damian pointed out. He swerved around the limo Bruce had gotten into, grin flitting across his lips.

“I’m glad there’s so many of you bats, I want to go to more weddings,” Jon sighed dreamily.

Damian tensed, eyes fixed on the road ahead of him.

“And everyone gets to dress up, and you look so handsome…”

Damian relaxed a little bit.

“If you like formal attire, we could just get more involved with the philanthropic side of Wayne Industries,” Damian pointed out.

“Well, I couldn’t come,” Jon pointed out.

“Why not? You’re with me,” Damian sneered.

“Not yet.”

Oh. Right. Damian’s grip tightened on his steering wheel, leather creaking under his grip. He caught a red light and he had to slow to a stop. He turned to look at Jon.

The look on Jon’s face sealed it. It was full of such naked longing, and not just that, but all that inexplicable love Jon felt for Damian. _Damian_ , of all people! Damian reached over and swiped his knuckles against Jon’s jaw. When Jon’s eyelashes fluttered, lips parting ever just so, Damian leaned over and captured his mouth in a searing kiss.

“Before the wedding party arrives,” Damian promised. “Now. As soon as Father walks in.”

“Do you want me there?”

“No.”

“I know you said so, before, but-”

Damian shook his head. “This is something I have to do alone.”

Jon nodded, though he bit at his freshly-kissed lower lip. “That’s kinda the point of having a boyfriend, though: you don’t.”

The light turned and Damian was free to look away from Jon’s soulful, earnest gaze.

“I know,” he assured Jon. “But it’s still true.”

* * *

“Father.”

Bruce turned to Damian, paparazzi smile mostly in place, though his eyes were troubled by Damian’s tone. Well, things were about to get even more troubled for him, before they got better. Damian steeled his spine.

“What’s up, champ?”

Damian wrinkled his nose. He really hated Bruce Wayne, sometimes.

“If I could have a word with you in private, before the wedding party arrives?”

“Sure thing.” Bruce wrapped his arm around Damian’s shoulders and gently led him away from the bustling wedding reception. “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

“That is entirely up to you,” Damian muttered. He turned, caught Jon’s eye one last time. Jon gave him a thumbs up, smile wobbly but excited. Damian wished he could borrow some of that optimism, just for a minute. As it were, all the worst-cases ran through his head, a hurricane of disastrous possibilities swirling within him as the door shut behind him and Bruce.

“Is everything alright?” Bruce said, and now he was Father again, not Bruce Wayne. That was better. Not exactly reassuring—Father was no Clark Kent—but better than that self-aggrandizing narcissist Wayne.

“Everything’s quite fine. I have a private matter I needed to go over with you. It should only take a moment.”

“Alright, Damian.”

Bruce didn’t know. He was the world’s second-or-third best detective, and he didn’t know.

Damian couldn’t possibly be that good of an actor. Did that mean Bruce was that badly in denial about it? Did he not want to face that truth so badly that it would cloud his normally razor sharp acumen?

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He had to tell him. Damned be the consequences.

“Jonathan Kent and I are in a romantic relationship,” Damian said in a rush, and there it was, there it was out in the world, out in front of _Bruce_.

Bruce blinked, just once, but then he nodded.

“Congratulations.”

But there was one more part of it. The part that worried Damian the most, and that he had to make sure Bruce was clear on, or this all would be for naught.

“And I’m gay.”

Bruce nodded, not… quite getting it, it looked like.

“Okay. I… Right. I know Jon is. You know. Male.”

“I just wanted to be clear. I’m not like Jason. I… I only…” Damian’s voice cracked, and _really_ , he was in his _twenties_. Damian cleared his throat, but found he could only get out: “Men.”

Bruce nodded again. He looked like he was trying desperately to understand what Damian was saying but still wasn’t seeing the larger picture.

“Thank you for telling me,” Bruce finally settled on. A moment later: “That isn’t a problem for me.”

Damian’s heart was pounding and he couldn’t control it. He’d faced down death with more control than this.

“Jon’s a good kid,” Bruce continued. He shot a look at Damian and corrected himself: “Man. He’s a good man. You certainly couldn’t have picked a better… _man_ … to have a… ‘romantic relationship’ with.”

Something like a laugh shocked its way out of Damian’s mouth before he could stop it. Bruce’s face twisted up in a mixture of disbelief and consternation. He sighed and tried again:

“I’m not sure what you want me to say. Clearly this has been weighing on you but it’s a non-issue for me.” Bruce paused a moment and tilted his head. “And I like Jon.”

“You don’t like anyone.”

“I like good people.”

“You don’t even like Superman.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “Superman concerns me. You understand that.”

Damian took a breath. “Jon doesn’t concern me.”

“Well, that’s…” Bruce thought about this for a second. “That’s good. He shouldn’t. Not if he’s your… boyfriend.”

Damian paced away from Bruce, blowing air between his teeth in frustration. Of all the ways he thought this conversation could go, this… wasn’t it.

“That’s… beside the point,” Damian finally settled on. He glanced over at Bruce. Pleading. Bruce considered him quietly.

“You know that I don’t care that Jon’s a man, don’t you?”

Something like tears might have hit the backs of Damian’s eyes had he been a different man. But he wasn’t, and they didn’t, he just carefully averted his face from Father’s. It wasn’t the sort of conservation you could have eye-to-eye.

“Jason is… well, I’m not sure what he wants to call it right now, but he’s dating Roy. I don’t have a problem with that. My own cousin, Kate—you know I don’t care.” Bruce’s expression darkened. “And he’s never admitted it, but I know about Tim and Kon.”

“Mere mot mor mon…” Damian mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

“They’re not your _son_ ,” Damian hissed, barely louder, but at least opening his mouth to enunciate.

Bruce stared quietly at Damian—not _down_ at him, not since they were roughly of a height, though it somehow still felt that way.

“Jason, Tim, they are-”

“Biologically,” Damian grumbled. He sighed and rubbed his palm viciously against his short-cropped hair. Bad habit he’d picked up from Jon. “And Jason’s dated women. Tim’s eighty-twenty for women as it is. They _could_ have kids. But I’m…” Damian shrugged one shoulder. It was it was, and Bruce wasn’t going to shame him out of it. “It’s only even going to be boys. Men. For, uh. For me.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, which Damian appreciated. It meant he was treating this conversation with the gravitas Damian _needed_ him to, rather than brushing it off with an unreflective “I love you no matter who you date! Man, woman, green, alien-” (of course, Jon _was_ half alien. Not incompatibly so, of course. His parents had managed to have him just fine).

But he could hurry up a little bit.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t have children,” Bruce finally broke his silence. “And I have no preference either way. You need to do what you need to do to be happy. Not what you think your father wants.”

“An answer so quintessentially fatherly,” Damian rolled his eyes. But Bruce placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed, just once, and Damian had to hide his face again.

“I’ve got enough heirs to last three lifetimes,” Bruce pointed out as they started out to rejoin the festivities. “And now that Dick and Barbara are married, there’ll be more on the way.”

“Do you really think she’d allow herself to become pregnant?” Damian mused. “She wouldn’t be able to fight crime for months. A year, given recovery time.”

Bruce chuckled lowly as he opened the door for Damian. They were immediately assaulted by music and laughter.

“Well. Priorities change. And there’s more than one way to fight crime. Barbara knows that better than most.”

* * *

Jon’s foot nudged Damian’s where they were sitting at one of the tables, chairs turned around so they could watch their friends and loved ones make fools of themselves on the dancefloor.

“So? How’d it go?”

“You weren’t listening?” Damian asked, even though he knew he wasn’t. Jon was annoyingly (perfectly) boy-scout that way. Just like his dad.

“No. But I can hear your heartbeat.”

Damian quieted the traitorous organ. Still, the damage was done, and Jon reached between the chairs to take hold of Damian’s hand.

Damian let him.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Jon said, because of course he had to, to say the most ridiculous thing.

Damian scowled and looked out at Richard dancing with Barbara, tears of laughter and joy and love in his eyes as he stared at his bride. Bruce was doing an elegant waltz with Selina, while Jason and Roy… were apparently already heading away, Jason groping obscenely at Roy’s rear end. Damian scowled some more.

But there was Jon, at his side: sunshine that couldn’t be beaten back, even by the darkest of nights. He tugged at Damian’s hand, standing.

“C’mon.” Jon beamed down at him. “If your dad knows then that’s the last of anyone that matters.”

Damian played his part and huffed and frowned deeply, but eventually he allowed Jon to pull him up to his feet and onto the dance floor. Jon wanted to shimmy and shake in all sorts of ridiculous ways, but Damian couldn’t find it in himself to move any way other than his classical training, so they ended up doing a modified waltz, with Jon breaking away on the spins to jerk like the silly young man he was before falling back into Damian’s arms.

He didn’t miss a single step, because of course he didn’t. Damian pulled him close so he could hide his smile in Jon’s neck. Jon turned, ridiculous mop of hair tickling at Damian’s nose, to whisper in his ear:

“I can still hear your heartbeat.”

Damian squeezed Jon’s hand too tight and spun him away again, but he didn’t let go. Jon laughed and let Damian pull him back as they danced and danced. Damian’s eyes met Father’s once, who gave him a curt nod. Damian nodded back.

When it became a little too much joy and community with nary a supervillain in sight, Damian excused himself and stepped out to the roof (he supposed he could have stepped out the front door, but he was a bat. The thought never occurred to him).

To his surprise Roy and Jason were up there, legs dangling off the edge, smoking cigarettes with a pack lying between them. Damian hesitated, but it wasn’t like the two superheroes had missed the sound of the roof door opening.

“Yo, D-Man.”

“Don’t call me that,” Damian replied automatically. But he stepped over to join them, since apparently the roof was taken and they didn’t mind the company.

“So you must have come out to pops,” Jason said in his typical blunt-instrument sort of way.

“Tt.”

“Aw, c’mon. It’s cute!” Jason reached down to ruffle Damian’s hair, but Damian intercepted the hand with a growl, squeeze Jason’s wrist just short of too-tight. Jason just laughed and let his hand drop.

Roy leaned over to smile at Damian. “Hey dude, it’s not easy. You know how long it took me to tell Ollie? Or, fuck, anyone outside Donna?”

“And me,” Jason pointed out.

“Well my dick was down your throat, I _hope_ you figured it out,” Roy snorted.

“You were so closeted you were calling those ‘bro-jobs,’” Jason pointed out.

“H’okay, like you weren’t.”

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m gonna.”

Roy laughed uproariously at that terrible joke. Damian rolled his eyes. At least him and Jon weren’t… _this_. Whatever _this_ was.

“Seriously though,” Jason continued. “I’m the fuck up: it kinda didn’t matter who I screwed, you know? Dad’s big disappointment couldn’t disappoint him any more. So it was easier for me. You: you’re the golden child.”

“That would be Richard and we all know it.”

“You’re his blood.”

Damian didn’t shift, though he wanted to. Jason picked up on it, though, and nudged his shoulder into Damian’s.

“It took guts, is what I’m saying. So good for you.”

“Well. It was inevitable he would find out. I have no intention of ever dating a woman and he _is_ the world’s second-greatest detective.”

Jason tilted his head. “Behind Lois Lane?”

“Tt.”

Jason started upright, laughing. “Oh man: she’s going to be your _mother-in-law_! You two are going to _fight_ over who’s the better investigator! And Bruce’ll be at Thanksgiving dinner like ‘hn.’”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Not hardly. Ms. Lane is… an expert at her job.”

“So when’s the wedding?” Roy cut in. “Because I wanna see _that_ toast.”

Damian did shift at that, heels of his palms digging into the concrete of the roof ledge. “There’s not- We’re not-!”

Jason leaned over to Roy. “Watch out: you got him speaking in _contractions_.”

“ _Tt_!”

Damian hopped up. He had wanted some time to breathe, not… plan his wedding to Jon. Which wasn’t even a _thing_ , not _hardly_ , they’d barely been seeing each other six months (officially. Unofficially Jon might have fallen in love with Damian when he was eleven. Unofficially Damian might have fallen back when he was seventeen. But “unofficially” wasn’t action, it was just feelings, and those hardly counted at all).

“Hey.”

Damian spun around, Jon hovering behind him, ankles crossed in that typical Supers pose they all did. Jon was smiling, but his eyes were serious. He jerked his head. “Wanna lift out of here?”

Damian felt a lot of things all at once, and then tried to feel nothing because he knew his heartbeat would give him away. But of course, it would only give him away to Jon, who already knew.

“ _Please_ ,” Damian sneered, shooting a _look_ back at Roy and Jason. Roy was lighting another cigarette for Jason, so it was only his “big brother” who saw the way Damian let Jon gather him up in his arms, just for a second, before Damian settled for the more dignified position of hanging off Jon’s side.

Jason smiled, and winked. Damian did not smile back.

“See you, baby bro,” Jason said with a wave. Roy passed him his cigarette and waved goodbye with him.

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do,” Roy hollered after them.

“That’s almost nothing,” Jason pointed out.

“Well. I’d do it all sober,” Roy pointed back. “So that’s something.”

As they flew away Damian saw Jason smiled softly at Roy, before pulling him in. Damian shook his head and turned away from his brother’s dysfunctional relationship and back to his own, frankly perfect (not that he’d _ever_ say so), boyfriend.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to be eavesdropping but I could hear your voice raising.”

“Offering a getaway was appreciated,” Damian assured him.

“Uh… so where _do_ you want to go?”

Damian glanced down at the city beneath them: Gotham in all its dark, smoky glory. Like a speakeasy on a Saturday night.

“Not too far,” he finally decided. “You can fly us back in time for the send off. It seems rude to miss that.”

They picked a modest skyscraper with a flat roof with a comfortable edge for sitting on. John’s legs dangled over the side of the building, kicking freely in the cool night air. Damian notice that his shoelaces were untied. Not that it mattered; not for a Super. Damian sighed and turned his gaze out over the city, breeze rustling his hair just so.

“D’you think we need to have a team meeting?” Jon mused. “You know, with Maya and Crush and Colin and all?”

“Colin knows,” Damian mumbled. He sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the cloudy night sky. It was usually clearer in Metropolis. Not that you could ever see the stars in either city. “Maya probably knows, too.”

“Crush is gay,” Jon observed. “So she probably won’t care.”

Damian snorted. No. No one else would care—or if they did, they weren’t anyone whose opinion Damian cared about. But, “It’s less about announcing our gayness and more about us being in a relationship. As team leader-”

“Co-leader-”

Ridiculous. It had been Dick’s team originally, first of all, which made Damian the natural leadership successor. But besides that, he’d led the Teen Titans for years before Jon showed up (or was allowed on the team). The Titans was his team.

No matter how much Jon shared leadership duties.

“We should let them know. It could affect team dynamics, after all. Be relevant in the field.”

“It hasn’t been in the last six months.”

“Well, it could be.” Damian shot Jon a look. “Are you arguing against telling them? Mr. Honesty?”

Jon laughed and reached over to thread his fingers between Damian’s.

“No way. I’m _so_ glad everyone can know now. I hated not saying anything. Felt like lying.”

 _That_ sounded more like what Damian expected from Jon.

“But I wanted you to know that it’s okay to tell your friends just... because they’re your friends. You don’t need to hide behind all these ‘team dynamics’ malarkey.”

 _Malarkey_.

“I know _I_ want to tell everybody I know about us. About _you_. Don’t you?”

Damian shrugged. He… He’d been so focused on the one person he couldn’t tell, who he _had_ to tell, who had to know before anyone else could know, that he hadn’t really thought beyond that. Not, like: _emotionally_. Sure, he’d vaguely run some actuarial tables in his head, planned for whenever villains got wind of his and Jon’s involvement and inevitably tried to use it against them (tt: as if anyone _could_ ). Vague plans of how to keep identities separate, modeled off how Father and Selina had done it over the years, had started to form. But as for telling his colleagues merely to… _tell_ them…?

“I don’t suppose I’ve given it much thought.”

“You said Colin knew.”

Damian flushed. “Well. I needed someone to act as an echo chamber for my thoughts when we were… beginning.”

Jon grinned. “You talked _relationships_ with Colin.”

“The subject matter is entirely irrelevant; I use Colin as a sounding board for a variety of topics.”

“You asked Colin for _advice_.”

“I most certainly did not,” Damian sniffed.

“What about Maya?” Jon ducked his head to catch Damian’s eye. “Don’t you want to tell her? Don’t you think it’d feel good?”

Damian could imagine it, he supposed. It… might not be the worst thing. She would react warmly, and probably tease him about it like the sister he never needed. He thought about how this would make him feel. Sat with it a moment. Turned it over in his gut.

Thought about how magnificent Jon was, and how much he would enjoy announcing to others that the boy of steel and sun had chosen _him_ to attach himself to. That darkest night had found his brightest day and together they were a super-couple. Damian grinned a small little grin, just to himself.

“Yes. I will tell Maya. We can tell the Titans. Call a meeting, next week.”

Jon sighed happily and leaned his head against Damian’s shoulder. His feet kicked at the cool Gotham air.

After a few minutes in silence Jon piped up: “How much more time before we have to go back?”

“Another hour, at least.”

Jon scooted closer over the cold concrete roof. “Wanna make out until then?”

Damian couldn’t think of anything he’d rather be doing. So he reached out to grab Jon’s tuxedo shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. Jon floated a little bit before settling onto Damian’s lap, arms wrapped around his back.

“We can’t return looking too mussed,” Damian cautioned him. Jon nuzzled at his jaw.

“Just for using the word ‘mussed’ I’m gonna give you the biggest hickey _ever_.”

Damian didn’t let him. But he did kiss Jon so much that his lips were red and swollen, and he definitely had the beginning of a beard-burn on his chin by the time they decided to fly back.

* * *

Tim trotted over, wrapping an arm around Damian. Damian sighed and left it in place. Tim was a little tipsy—Damian could smell the alcohol on his breath—and it _was_ the end of their brother’s perfect wedding. He supposed he could let this time go.

“Hey, uh… So are you and Jon dating?”

“Yes.” Damian glanced at Tim. “I suppose I forgot to tell you.”

Tim sighed. “I swear, I’m the last to know in this damn family. I had to hear it from Alfred, of all people.”

Better than hearing it from Jason, Damian supposed. Though, now that Tim mentioned Alfred…

“Excuse me.” Damian lifted Tim’s arm from his shoulder. “I’d like to bid Alfred a good evening.”

“Oh well _congrats_!” Tim called after him. Then, after a beat, Tim’s footfalls were loud behind him as he caught back up to Damian. “Hang on, geeze, wait a minute.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at his inebriated brother. “Yes?”

Tim’s face was red, and it wasn’t all from the alcohol—he wasn’t _that_ drunk. Damian waited, not sure what Tim was working up to. Then he realized, all at once, only about a second before Tim got it out. Oh, no-

“If you need any sex tips for sleeping with a Super uh just let me know. It’s not too complicated but if Jon hasn’t had a lot of experience before you it might be worth having him practice some first.”

Damian stayed very, very still. And prayed Jon wasn’t listening in. He breathed steadily and kept tight reign over his heart rate, knowing if it shot up Jon couldn’t help but tune in.

“Drake. Really.”

Tim rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just. There was. Connor and me, on and off, you know. A few times. It’s mostly fine, there’s just some physiology he needs to keep control of…”

“The day I take best sexual practices advice from you is the day I take survival advice from Jason Todd.”

“Well, I mean, he keeps coming back…” Tim pointed out. When Damian just glared at him, Tim shrugged helplessly. “There’s worse people to ask!”

“We are quite fine on our own, thank you.” Damian tried to extricate himself, but Tim grabbed his arm. Tim was lucky he was drunk, or Damian would have made him regret that. He still might.

“Listen, I swear I’ll let this go, just: have you guys… are you… _active_?”

“That is absolutely none of your business,” Damian hissed.

“Well I mean, I just thought, you just came out to Bruce tonight, so I wasn’t sure how long you’ve been together…”

Damian bristled, caught out in his own cowardice. But there was no use in lying to his family of detectives—the damn gossips all _talked_ to each other. “It’s been six months. Give or take.” He pulled his arm out of Tim’s grasp. “So, without saying too much, your advice is long past the point of relevant.” And with that Damian strode away, heart pounding. Damn it. Jon definitely tuned in for that last part. Damian slowed his breathing, calming himself. Damned Tim Drake.

He found Pennyworth at a back corner table, having a humorous chat with Selina. Damian nodded at her. She’d always been quite good to him. “Excuse me, Mother. I wanted a word with Pennyworth?”

“Sure thing, handsome.” Selina pushed herself up from her chair with all that catlike elegance she effortlessly possessed. She wrapped Damian up in a tight hug, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m proud of you. And so is Bruce.”

And then she left him, breath stolen, but since it was her he supposed that meant he’d gotten off easy.

“Pennyworth.”

“Master Damian.”

Damian slid into the chair Selina had been sitting in. He noticed the utensils were missing from her place setting. Honestly, that woman. Damian smiled as he reached over and picked up the knife from the setting next to that. He balanced it on his finger.

“I guess Bruce told you.”

“About your conversation? It came up.”

“He wanted to know if you already knew.”

A smile beneath that pencil thin mustache. “Such a question may have been raised.”

“Did you tell him?”

“That I’ve known since your first kiss?”

Damian snorted, flipping the knife and catching it again on his index finger. “You did not.”

“Well, a five minute delay is hardly worth mentioning.”

 _The jelly from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich was leaking out over his fingers. Damian stared down at it, only vaguely aware he’d even made it. He didn’t even_ like _peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. So utterly pedestrian._

_That was Jon’s favorite sandwich._

_Damian felt like he was having a heart attack. Or a panic attack, more likely. He didn’t_ get _panic attacks. He was a living weapon. Trained from birth to be the sword of the demon._

_Damian gasped, fingers sticky with jelly._

_He’d done it. Jon had done it._

_They’d kissed._

_His world was ending._

_His world was just_ beginning _._

_Damian’s fingers were sticky._

_“Master Damian?”_

_“Pennyworth.” Damian breathed deeply through his mouth before turning around. “I…”_

_Alfred stared at the sandwich in his hand. His gaze rose to meet Damian’s, alarmed but trying not to show it. Damian struggled to compose himself. Absurd. He was being absurd. This changed nothing._

_This changed_ everything _._

_“Would you like me to prepare some cucumber sandwiches, Master Damian?”_

_“…Yes, of course. Thank you, Pennyworth.”_

_Alfred didn’t say a word as Damian tossed the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the trash and washed his hands._

_When he kept washing his hands, Alfred slipped over and shut the water for him, gently placing a dishrag in his hands._

_“This will be ready in just a moment, Master Damian. If you’d like to have a seat?”_

_Damian nodded, sliding into his seat at the kitchen table. Alfred moving through the kitchen as he prepared the sandwiches was soothing. The comforting rhythms of his life. Damian felt his world righting itself. Or, maybe, he felt himself reorienting to this new, flipped world he found himself in. Damian breathed._

_The sandwiches were perfect triangles, piled high on the plate Alfred placed ever so perfectly in front of Damian._

_“Thank you, Pennyworth.”_

_Alfred slid into the chair across from him._

_Damian stilled, cucumber sandwiches forgotten._

_“Master Damian. Was your Titans mission quite alright?”_

_“All good,” Damian croaked. He cleared his throat. “Little to worry about, just some standard Intergang work.”_

_Alfred stayed there, looking at Damian but not exactly staring him down, somehow. After a moment he picked up a sandwich, and took a bite. Damian stared at him._

_“These were your father’s favorites, you know. Ever since he was a little boy. Did you know that?”_

_“I think you’ve told me before,” Damian said. “You or Richard.”_

_“Yes, Master Dick would know that.”_

_Alfred took another bite. Damian stared at him._

_“I believe Master Jonathan’s favorite sandwich is peanut butter and jelly.”_

_Horrifyingly, Damian felt tears spring to his eyes. He didn’t even understand why: he was happy. He was_ so happy _. He couldn’t even look at it, it was like the sun, it was_ Jon _: impossibly bright and big and too much and never enough. But his eyes were hot and there was a darkness in his chest screaming in fear in the exact same place as all that joy, and Damian just couldn’t comprehend it all at once._

_“He kissed me.”_

_That wasn’t right._

_“I kissed him.”_

_Still not._

_“Pennyworth.” Damian looked up at the man who was as much a grandfather to him as any other. More so than Ra’s, a thousand times more. “I’m gay. And I think… I think Jon and I are… boyfriends.”_

_“Of course, Master Damian.” Alfred nodded at the sandwiches. “Have a sandwich. I’ll fix you some tea.”_

_Damian deflated. He wasn’t sure what he wanted. He didn’t want Alfred to make a… a fuss. Throw a ticker-tape parade. But everything that Damian was feeling inside, it was so momentous, it felt like it needed… something._

_And then Alfred laid a hand on his shoulder, as he stopped on his way to the kettle._

_“I love you as dearly as I ever loved Master Bruce,” Alfred told him. Damian tilted his head back, gazing up at the kind old man. Alfred smiled down at him. “And Jonathan is a wonderful young man. He’s lucky to have you, and you he.”_

_Damian shuddered, dropping his head. Alfred patted him once before he continued on his way to the kettle. Damian’s breath stuttered in his chest as he fought to pull himself back under control. He wiped at his eyes._

_His voice was surprisingly steady when he spoke next, half turned towards Alfred. “I’d appreciate it if you kept this between us. For now.”_

_Alfred didn’t even hesitate in his tea preparations. “Of course, Master Damian. This is your news to share, not mine.” He snapped the burners on. “But, of course: I am here. For whatever services you might require.”_

_Damian hung his head._

_“Thank you, Alfred,” he whispered._

“I did tell him,” Alfred admitted. “It would have been hopeless to try and lie to your father, as you well know. I’ve never had a knack for it.”

“Sure,” Damian smirked. He flicked his wrist, sending the knife flying into the ceiling. Alfred frowned.

Damian rested his chin on his fist. “Was he mad?”

“More… befuddled,” Alfred decided on.

“That he was the last to know?”

“That,” Alfred agreed. “But also that you would be so concerned over his reaction. I think you rather hurt his feelings.”

Damian snorted. _There_ was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“If he thought about it more seriously, he’d realize I had every reason for concern,” Damian sniffed. “I do not fret idly.”

“Of course not,” Alfred agreed. His eyes shone with mirth. If Damian didn’t love him so much, he’d be annoyed with the old coot.

Alfred took a sip of his champagne before speaking again:

“I believe he said something about making a rather large donation to an LGBT charity.”

Damian snorted.

“The Trevor project came up. He doesn’t understand how anyone could believe him to be anti-LGBT, much less his own son.”

“It is _because_ I am his own- Never mind,” Damian sighed. Then he grimaced. “I suppose I’ll have to come out as Damian Wayne now, won’t I?” That was unfortunate. He wrinkled up his nose. “How am I supposed to explain I’m dating some nothing son of a reporter?”

“Ms. Lane is a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter and author. It is not so unusual for the philanthropic class to rub shoulders with the media class. Not to mention you went to the same private schools and college.”

“I suppose that’s somewhat convincing…” Damian mused. He sighed and scrubbed at his head. “I suppose Father was already thinking ahead to all that?”

“He was indeed,” Alfred confirmed. He leaned forward, laying his hand over Damian’s on the table. “He supports you in this. Unconditionally. And now that he’s aware of the situation, he will be bringing the full force of his mind to it.”

“Fantastic,” Damian snorted, but he nearly really meant it. Which was… odd. He pulled his hand from Alfred’s, embarrassed by the expression of sentiment.

Luckily Gar was making his rounds, handing out poppers to the guests. “Five minutes!” he told Alfred and Damian as he handed them theirs. “And hey Damian congrats on your boyfriend. Can’t really get hotter than banging a Super.”

If this wasn’t his brother’s wedding…

The knife dropped from the ceiling and Damian caught it without looking. Then he just held it and looked at Gar.

Gar booked it to the next table.

“Impressive,” Alfred commented. “Though I still do not condone the destruction of private property.”

“They can bill me,” Damian said dismissively.

Jon bounded across the reception room, three poppers clenched in his fists. Damian fought down a smile.

“Are you ready?

“To put this day of familial socializing to an end? Most definitely.”

Jon leaned past Damian to address Alfred: “You know he doesn’t mean it.”

“Master Jonathan, I have been raising precious young Wayne boys since long before you were born,” Alfred said. “I speak fluent ‘emotional constipation.’”

“Gross, Alfred,” Damian grumbled, only insulted because it was true.

Jon shoved his poppers in his tuxedo pockets so he grab Damian’s hand and drag him to where everyone was waiting to see off the happy couple. Damian flushed but didn’t pull away. It didn’t matter, now. Everyone who mattered knew, and anyone who would have something to say about it didn’t matter (nor would get away with anything so idiotic. Even if Damian had to deal with it out-of-view of Jon).

But no one cared. They were here amongst Titans and Bats and no one cared. Damian locked eyes with his father once, as Jon was dragging him to the other side of the aisle everyone was lining. He nodded at Damian, ghost of a smile flickering across his lips. Damian only had time to nod back before they lost sight of each other, amongst the sea of loved ones and family.

Jon piled Damian’s hands with poppers, keeping two in each hand for himself.

“I can’t burst this many at once,” Damian commented as he juggled the poppers between hands.

“Did I just hear _Damian Wayne_ say _can’t_?” Jon mocked. “I thought there was _nothing_ you couldn’t do. The great _Damian Wayne_ -”

Just for that, Damian popped two of them on top of Jon’s head as Barbara and Richard rushed past. Jon cheered and hooted at them with the rest of the crowd. Damian—after setting off all his poppers—clapped reservedly. But Jon’s shoulder was bumping into his, and even without drinking Damian felt flush and light-headed all over. When Jon wrapped his arm around Damian’s shoulder and suggested getting out of there, Damian agreed at the speed of sound.

Jon made their bed at super-speed for them, finishing by the time Damian managed to get his shoes off. Jon had also shirked off his bowtie and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his tuxedo, in the meantime, but left the rest on. He lounged on the freshly made bed and smiled seductively at Damian.

“What are you doing over there? The bed’s been ready for a whole five seconds.”

Damian shoved him back against the pillows, grin sharp and mean. But Jon was laughing beneath him, body already responding to Damian’s touch. That was what worked about them. Damian found himself stilling, just looking down at Jon. Drinking the sight in. Jon paused, smile slowly melting into something else.

“I love you,” Jon said.

He’d never said it before. Damian knew he had been waiting on him.

Damian nodded, not sure he could talk.

He buried his face in Jon’s neck and breathed.

“I can hear your heart,” Jon whispered against his ear. “It’s okay.”

Jon deserved to hear him say it. One day. Soon. Instead of reading it in Damian’s body, or in the actions he did for Jon. But not today. Today had been too much, already. Jon’s hands stroked over Damian’s back and Damian knew it was okay. Jon understood.

“C’mon. As sexy as you look in your ‘thawb’, I wanna see you out of it.” Jon tugged at Damian’s clothes for emphasis.

Damian huffed and sat back on top of Jon’s thighs. He arched any eyebrow down at Jon, already looking debauched in his barely-undone tuxedo shirt. It was really unfortunate he still insisted on tattered jeans and sneakers. Jon looked positively ravishing in a suit. Damian leaned forward and kissed him deeply, tongues sliding over each other, noses bumping. Damian breathed deeply through his nose, shivering at Jon’s clean, bright smell. Like sunshine in a bottle.

He leaned back just enough to get his hands between them, fingers moving deftly to unbutton Jon’s tuxedo shirt. When he reached the cummerbund he stopped to tug the shirt out from beneath it and continue the rest of the way down. Jon giggled and broke the kiss. He glanced down at himself.

“It’s like a fanny pack.”

“It is _not_ a fanny pack,” Damian insisted. “It’s a cummerbund.”

Jon snorted. Damian glared at him.

“Don’t say it.”

Jon giggled.

“I will break up with you.”

Jon giggled harder.

“Jon-”

“ _Cummer_.”

Damian rushed forward and kissed Jon harshly. He grabbed for Jon’s wrists and forced them above Jon’s head, holding him down.

“You child,” Damian growled into Jon’s mouth.

Jon was laughing between kisses, breath short.

“ _Cummer_ ,” he managed to get out one more time before bursting into heaving laughter.

Damian grabbed Jon and flipped him onto his stomach, flipping up the tuxedo tails so he could grind his hips into Jon’s still-clothed ass.

“I’ll give you a cummer,” he growled.

Jon was still laughing as he managed, between panting breaths, to say: “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Damian ripped the jacket off Jon, then his shirt. He ran stubby fingernails down Jon’s back, causing the boy of steel to arch backwards, into his touch.

“Does it make sense now,” Damian growled low against Jon’s ear. He humped against Jon’s ass.

“No,” Jon whined.

“Does it have to?”

“ _No_ ,” Jon breathed. “Please, Damian…”

Damian set to work unbuckling the cummerbund (it was easier from the back, anyway) and yanking down Jon’s pants. Jon lifted his hips for him, then quickly scrambled onto his knees when he was down to just his tightie-whities. He glanced back at Damian and frowned.

“You’re still dressed.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. He positioned himself against Jon’s ass, then lifted his robe to reveal his bare erection. Jon groaned and dropped his head forward.

“You’re a cheat.”

“Took off the leggings and underwear in the bathroom,” Damian admitted. “I wasn’t like this all evening.”

“I didn’t think you’d be,” Jon agreed. His hips were pushing back against Damian rhythmically, fucking Damian’s bare penis against his underwear. Damian groaned and rubbed his hand over Jon’s lower back. He let his eyes flutter closed as he sank into the sensation. After a minute he smacked (lightly, not that it mattered) at Jon’s ass.

“Take these off.”

As Jon hurried to comply Damian rolled over to their bedside table for condoms and lubricant. When he returned Jon was leaning on his forearms, presenting his bare ass for Damian to have his way with. Damian took a steadying breath and reached a hand out to caress it.

“Dami,” Jon whined.

“Shh. Patience,” Damian whispered back. He imagined it was harder, with super speed and super brain abilities, for Jon to slow down. But that didn’t mean Damian wasn’t going to enjoy making him, every once in a while. Condom and lubricant abandoned for the moment, Damian leaned in and pressed his face against Jon’s ass, biting at the cheeks, licking at them, slowly moving to nuzzle between them.

Jon whined loudly, hands fisting at the sheets in anticipation. He loved this debaucherous act, would go utterly mad for it on the rare occasion that Damian indulged him. But tonight this was as much for Damian as it was Jon. He just… Damian spread Jon’s cheeks, pushed his nose against Jon’s hole and nudged it up and down… he just needed it, tonight. _Craved_ it.

Damian licked a thick stripe up Jon’s hole, then another, and another. Jon was panting loudly, hips shuddering as Damian lapped and lapped at that tight ring of muscle. The sound of his labored breathing filled their bedroom as Damian licked and sucked at his asshole, at some times running the rough flat of his tongue over the hole, at some times teasing it with the pointed tip. Damian blew on it, and Jon’s hole fluttered, gaping and clenching. Begging for him.

Damian dove in hard, tongue-fucking into that hole, giving it what it asked for. Jon cried out and jerked, mouth open and drooling against their clean sheets. Damian fucked into his hole hard, jaw straining as he pumped his tongue in and out, lapped around, let himself drool and soak that tight little ring.

“Dami, _ah_ , Dami, oh, _ah_ -”

Jon was so vocal in bed. Damian barely ever made a sound, but Jon…

“It feels so good, Dami, please- _yes_ , _unghf_ , Dami, you’re amazing, yes…”

Damian spit against Jon’s hole, then pulled back to breathe. He sucked on his thumb, letting it pop loudly from his mouth. Jon shuddered, fisting the sheets.

“ _Please, please, please_ …”

Damian rubbed at Jon’s hole with his thumb, eliciting a whine. When he pushed it in, that whine turned into a low moan. Damian stretched the muscle, then replaced his thumb with his index finger. He grabbed at the lube with his free hand, drizzling it over Jon’s hole as he finger-fucked him before slipping a second finger in alongside the first.

“Fuck yourself on my fingers,” Damian commanded.

Jon jumped to comply, hips jerking back spastically several times before he fell into a rhythm. His ass rolled, smooth fucks as Damian kept his fingers still for a moment, then started fucking back into Jon. He couldn’t help himself. He just wanted to do everything to Jon, to have him any way. Damian’s dick leaked thick gobs of precum down its shaft as he watched Jon fuck himself back onto his fingers, pink little hole looking like it could barely contain _that_ much. But of course he could take more.

Damian pulled out with an unusual urgency, self-control only a bare fiction. His fingers trembled as he tore at the condom wrapper, drizzled lube on himself. Jon was still breathing hard, from excitement, not exertion. Damian ran his left hand up and down Jon’s back shakily, body tense, skin on _fire_ , as he positioned himself behind Jon with his right. When he pushed in Jon cried out, throwing his head back. Damian screwed his eyes shut as he settled inside Jon, every muscle in his body taught. Jon was so hot, so tight. Damian pushed in further, not stopping until his hips were flush against Jon’s ass. He reached forward and grabbed Jon’s hair, pulling him in for a messy kiss.

“You’re too fucking tall,” he grumbled, barely able to reach Jon’s mouth with his own.

Jon’s eyes were pleasure-glazed, his mouth wet with spit, cheeks flushed. But he still managed to smile crookedly and point out: “Wouldn’t be a problem if you were on bottom.”

Damian fucked himself against Jon, hard, rattling Jon’s body, sending shockwaves of pleasure through him. Jon’s jaw went slack, his eyes rolling shut.

“Wouldn’t be able to do that if I was bottoming,” he growled.

“World’s best detective,” Jon murmured. “What was I thinking.”

Damian hissed as he fucked into Jon. He was already too far gone, he wanted to come so badly. He pressed his forehead against Jon’s shoulder blade, breathing hard. Fuck, fuck. His balls slapped at Jon’s ass, sound of skin wetly hitting skin joining his breathing and Jon’s whines in their apartment bedroom.

“ _Shoot, shoot, shoot_ ,” Jon was whispering to himself. “ _Ah, ah_ -!”

“You need to come?” Damian asked, because he needed to, _fuck_ , he needed to. His balls were drawn tight up against his body, groin muscles tenses with the strain. He fucked faster, harder against Jon, shaking his body.

“Yes, Damian, please, _please_ -”

Damian swore and leaned back, pulling Jon with him into his lap. Jon groaned as he slid down further on Damian’s dick, spread himself further for him. Damian nipped at Jon’s jaw, licked that summer-sweet sweat from his neck.

“Go. Do it.”

Jon lifted himself, then dropped, fucking himself onto Damian. He took three, four bounces, finding his rhythm, and then-

Damian swore and dug his fingers into Jon’s hips, holding on for dear life as Jon sped his thrusts up, and up, and up, until it was just movement, only movement, until it felt like Damian’s cock was in a tight, hot, vibrating sleeve, milking his dick, driving him higher, and higher, and higher-

“Ah, _ah, Damian!_ ” Jon froze, seated fully on Damian’s dick, clenched down. Damian came explosively, buried to the hilt in Jon’s ass, filling the condom with his cum. He bit down on Jon’s shoulder as he watched Jon come untouched, dick spurting cum into the air, his chest, all over itself. Damian was shuddering, dick twitching inside Jon as he reached forward, smearing Jon’s own cum all over himself and jerked Jon through his orgasm. Jon’s body convulsed against Damian’s, wringing another twitching, groaned drop of cum from his spent dick. Damian blinked tears away as he tiredly jerked off Jon, through the last, helpless twitches of his orgasm. He pressed his face against Jon’s shoulder and breathed.

Damian disposed of the condom but didn’t remember doing it. He was lying in Jon’s arms next memory he had, pulled tight against the soft, patchy fuzz of Jon’s chest hair Damian breathed, dazed, watching Jon’s hair move with every breath. Jon’s hand was stroking Damian’s head, running through his short-cropped hair. Damian breathed.

“I know I’m totally not allowed to say it, but I’m gonna anyway,” Jon started, voice scratchy. “I’m proud of you.”

Damian moved to pull away but Jon kept him there, shushing him. “I’m done, I promise. I just wanted to say it out loud.” Like the ‘I love you,’ earlier. Damian frowned but settled back against Jon’s chest.

“No more mushy stuff,” Jon promised. Then he stretched, groaning exaggeratedly. “That was _amazing_ , I came _so hard_.”

Damian snorted against Jon’s chest. “Ridiculous.”

“Unfm seriously. I love when you rim me, it builds me up so I can’t see straight.”

Damian buried his face in Jon’s chest and laughed.

He’d tell him he loved him soon. Jon was so easy to love. It wouldn’t be so hard to admit it. Certainly not as hard as everything else Damian had had to admit.

Coda

“One Wayne Light, please.”

“Same for me.”

“And two shots of kryptonite.”

“Coming right up.”

Bruce slapped his credit card down on the counter and stared at Clark, who had been reaching for his wallet.

“Really? You’re going to try that?”

Clark shrugged as he put his wallet away. “It feels rude not to even _offer_.”

Their lime green shots and watery beers came out, and they took them to a table in the far corner of the bar. Clark eyed the shots warily.

“There’s not-”

“There’s not any actual kryptonite in a kryptonite shot, Clark.”

“I know that, it’s just…” Clark sniffed dubiously at the shot. “Feels like tempting fate.”

“Should feel familiar, then.”

Bruce held his shot up, and Clark held his. Bruce raised an eyebrow. “To our sons.”

“May they have a long and happy life together,” Clark toasted.

“Failing that, may their break-up not destroy the world,” Bruce snorted.

“I’m not toasting to their _break-up_ ,” Clark huffed. “That’s just bad luck.”

“Fine, fine.” Bruce bobbed his shot pointedly. “To our sons. To that they have each other.”

“I can drink to that,” Clark agreed. They downed their Kryptonite shots, Clark only shuddering a little bit. Bruce tossed his shot glass onto the table, upside-down.

“So how long have you known.”

Clark coughed delicately into his beer. He took a long sip, though what was even the point with the world’s third-greatest detective on the case?

“Excuse me?”

“It would appear everyone in my family knew before me. And I know Jon—not as well as I know Damian, but well enough. If they’ve been dating months, you’ve known for months, haven’t you?”

Clark sighed. “It _is_ harder to keep these things from me. Super-senses, and all.”

Bruce fell silent for a moment as he took a drink from his beer. He watched Clark over the rim of his glass.

“You didn’t know until they told you, did you?”

“No idea!” Clark huffed. “Lois said she knew from day one. Said Jon had come home from a Titans mission _unusually_ happy. I said how could she even tell, he’s always happy when he comes back from Titans missions!”

“Well, she is the world’s second-greatest detective,” Bruce mused. Clark opted not to correct him, just because he suspected Bruce was doing it on purpose to get a rise out of him.

“Did you know?” Clark asked.

Bruce’s mouth downturned so sharply it was almost comical.

“No. And apparently Alfred _did_.”

“Sorry to tell you: everyone kinda knew before you,” Clark told him.

“I’m not sure how this happened.”

“I _think_ what happened was your family did exactly what you’ve trained them to do.”

“How unfortunate,” Bruce murmured into his drink.

They fell quiet for a moment, Bruce idly scrolling on his phone, Clark glancing up at the baseball game on the bar TV.

“And you’re okay with it?” Clark asked after they were nearly done with their beers.

“Of course I am,” Bruce replied without hesitation. Then he laughed—not out loud, but a quiet, under the breath thing that Clark knew how to recognize. “I’m surprised he wants to be with someone like, er-”

“Like me?” Clark offered.

“Your words, not mine,” Bruce hummed, twinkle in his eye.

“Well. We do make good partners,” Clark pointed out.

“We do,” Bruce agreed. “And your boy is good for him. Damian… He has a lot of darkness in him. You know most of it, his mother, what she’s done. It’s...” Bruce thumbed at the condensation on the outside of his beer mug. “If it was anyone, I’m glad it’s your son. He’s good for Damian. He’s always been good for him.”

“I appreciate that, Bruce,” Clark said, heartfelt. “And for what it’s worth, Lois and I couldn’t be happier Jon’s with Damian. They’re a heck of a dynamic duo.”

“You Supers do always need a dark knight to remind you of the world’s demons.”

“I don’t want to agree, but I suppose that’s the point.”

“That’s the point,” Bruce agreed.

Bruce finished the last of his beer in a long swallow. As he set the mug gently on the table, he mused:

“I do worry about what happens when Jon has to be taken down, like when he gets infected with red- Why are you laughing? That happens. More often than I’d like.”

Clark shook his head, clinging to Bruce’s shoulder with one hand as he laughed and laughed.

Across town, Jon stroked his fingers idly over Damian’s chest. Damian’s eyes were closed, but he murmured:

“What are you listening in on?”

“Our dads are talking about us,” Jon whispered back.

“What are they saying?”

Damian’s heart didn’t skip a beat, just beat on steadily, _thrum_ thrum _, thrum_ thrum _, thrum_ thrum. But Jon knew him too well to trust his biometrics on this.

“They’re toasting to us.”

 _Thrum_ thrum. _Thrum_ thrum. _Thrum_ thrum.

“Batman’s mad he didn’t figure it out.”

 _Thrum_ thrum. _Thrum_ thrum. _Thrum_ thrum.

“He just said my mom was the world’s second-best detective.”

That finally did provoke a reaction from Damian. His mouth quirked, once, twice, and then he snorted loudly.

“Okay.” He tugged Jon’s hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “That’s enough.”

Jon laid his head down on Damian’s chest and closed his eyes, bringing his super-hearing back, back, until it was only this room, only Damian’s heartbeat.

 _Thrum_ thrum. _Thrum_ thrum. _Thrum_ thrum.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._


End file.
